


Galleons and Sickles and Knuts, Oh My!

by Grooot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_giftfest, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grooot/pseuds/Grooot
Summary: Draco bets Hermione a thousand galleons she won’t ask out the taciturn and slightly intimidating Severus Snape. Hermione is not one to turn down a challenge, or a thousand galleons come to think of it....





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2018 SSHG giftfest for jodel-from-aol.
> 
> Beta work by best beta the entire world Too_dle_oo. (Ugh I don’t know how to tag you properly sorry)

Draco and Harry were drunk. Silly, giggling, making rude jokes drunk. 

Hermione smiled fondly at them.

She was sitting at a table in the most testosterone-drenched bar she’d ever been in. Everything was either polished walnut or brass or what appeared to be a dark plum-coloured velvet. It was the most exclusive Wizarding bar in London. Hermione guessed _that_ had something to do with the outrageous prices, as well as its atmosphere that was equal parts snobbery and misogyny. She would have never sent foot in the place had Draco not insisted and sweetened the deal with a promise to open a large tab. 

Hermione looked around the room, and her eyes met those of the only other witch in the entire place. They shared a brief ‘Oh, girl, you too?’ moment that was only available to patrons who had access to more than one X chromosome. Her eyes moved on, squinting in disgust at the ‘Magic is Might’ plaque over the entrance, and settled on a wizard relaxing at the bar. She observed him with a languorous interest, noting his lean figure, dark hair, and, on closer inspection, nice looking arse. 

The wizard lifted a hand to push his hair off his face, and Hermione’s interest stilled instantly as she realised she’d been checking out Professor Snape. Then she noticed the icy-blond elitist git to his right. She choked slightly on her drink and turned hastily back to her erstwhile companions. Her clumsy movement caught Draco’s attention.

Draco looked at the bar and grimaced. “Oh, shit, it’s father. Ugh.” 

Harry peered around him to look. “And Professhor Shnape.”

“You mean Professor _Snape_ ,” corrected Hermione. _Honestly, how could Harry get this tipsy on the tiny little drinks he is having?_

“He looksh pished off,” said Harry, trying to focus on the two wizards.

“He always looks pissed off,” said Hermione, not bothering to turn around. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“No, let’s have some fun,” said Draco, smirking.

Harry blinked at him owlishly. “Like what?”

“A dare for Hermione. For five hundred Galleons,” Draco announced. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lot of money. What’s the dare?”

“Go chat up Severus.” 

Hermione laughed. “Not on your life! I’m not getting killed for five hundred Galleons.”

“Okay. One thousand,” offered Draco coolly.

Harry giggled next to him.

“Ah, now _that’s_ getting-killed money,” said Hermione. 

Draco prodded her. “Father has buggered off. Do it now,” he hissed. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked across the room to the bar. She walked over to Snape and propped herself on the bar next to him. “Hello,” she said.

“No,” Snape said, not looking at her.

“So—“

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” said Hermione indignantly.

“I’m sure I don’t care to know, either.” 

“At least let me buy you a drink.”

“No,” he said bluntly. He’d not even glanced her way the entire exchange.

Hermione finally admitted defeat to herself. She decided to come clean. “All right, I’ll get on with it. Draco just bet me to come over and chat you up. I thought you might play along and we could split the money.” 

Snape finally turned to look at her, his black eyes calculating. “How much?”

“Well, he bet me eight hundred Galleons, so four hundred for you and four hundred for me.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Snape snorted back a laugh. “You’re a pretty terrible liar,” he said. “Maybe we could split the thousand,” he said, emphasising the amount. 

Hermione laughed in delight. “You were listening!”

“No. I was _spying_ Isn’t that what I do?” he asked, sipping his drink. 

“I thought that was more something you did on the side, between brewing potions and drinking the blood of children,” Hermione said. 

Snape turned his head more to look at her properly. 

She grinned at him. “Fine, five hundred each. But only if you agree to say we decided to go out to dinner or a drink or something,” Hermione proposed. 

“I’d go with the drink. I don’t want to come across as too easy,” said Snape, his eyes opening up with a trace of amusement.

Hermione laughed. _Oh, he was funnier than she’d thought._

“Right. So I can drop the money off at your house if you want,” she offered, but his face closed off immediately.

“No.”

“Oh well, how about—“ 

“Just put it in my account at Gringotts,” he said with an air of finality.

Hermione balked a bit. “Alright, but I try to keep away from there as much as possible. They still are a bit miffed that I nearly destroyed it that time.” 

Snape looked at her again. “Yes. I had forgotten about that.”

“Well, so, that’s done, so I guess thanks very much, Professor.”

“I’m not a Professor anymore.”

“Oh, um… Mister—“

“No.”

“Er... Master—“

“No.”

“Well, what _do_ I call you?” Hermione asked in frustration.

“I can’t imagine you need to call me anything. Given you were paid to undertake this particular exchange, I don’t foresee us having many future conversations pro bono.”

“It wasn’t like that. I thought you might be happy to make an easy five hundred.”

“You could have just tried a few lines on me and kept it all yourself,” observed Snape.

Hermione shook her head. “No. That would have been mean. It was a mean dare anyway, so I don’t mind bending the rules so we both benefit without any hurt feelings.” 

This time Snape turned more than his head to look at her. “Did you think you would have hurt my feelings?” he asked, genuinely interested now.

“Maybe not. But it would hurt mine if I found out someone only asked me out because they were dared to. So, I didn’t want to do it to you.”

“I’m flattered you care so much,” Snape said sarcastically. 

Hermione frowned. This was going bad fast. She’d had a brief moment of almost having a real conversation with the man formally known as Professor Snape, after _years_ of failed attempts and it had already passed. For a short period they’d actually conversed like normal people. Just liked she’d imagined.

“Miss Granger, how... _lovely_ it is to see you.” Lucius Malfoy had returned with his witheringly polite insults hidden in pleasantries.

He was wearing all white. An odd choice for any other type of bar, but it seemed fitting for this one. Hermione privately thought it washed his features out, which gave her a mean little spark of joy inside. He reminded her of an Arctic wolf: all glossy, pale pelt and predatory smiles.

“Hello, Mister Malfoy,” said Hermione, meeting his gaze steadily.

“And over here to speak to _Severus._ Well, I must say that’s delightful,” Malfoy said with a very clear frosty edge to his voice.

“Oh, I came to see you, too,” said Hermione. “I’m very interested in community service.” 

“Community service?” he asked. She’d manage to baffle him.

“Yes. My favourite. _Working with the elderly._ ” She patted Malfoy patronisingly on the arm, ignoring his hiss of what she assumed was revulsion. “Nice chatting with you,” she said to Snape, who smiled a tight little smile and lifted his glass to her as if in a silent toast.

She wandered back to Draco and Harry who were giggling like idiots. She sat down and picked up her glass. “Pay up, Draco.” 

He stopped giggling immediately. “What?”

“I asked him out; he said yes. So pay up.” She held out her hand.

“Bloody hell, Hermione.” Draco was aghast. “I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ it.”

“Well, I did.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Harry. Apparently a good shock worked as well as a sobering potion.

Hermione sighed. She turned back towards the bar and saw Snape and Malfoy looking at their table with vastly differing expressions. Snape looked vaguely amused, Malfoy looked murderous. She smiled and lifted her glass to Snape. She held her breath briefly, but released it in relief as he lifted his in return and smiled.

“Oh, Merlin, even his smile is terrifying,” said Harry. “You’ve got balls, Hermione.”

“I’ve got ovaries,” she said. “They’re tougher than balls.”

“Obviously,” said Draco, looking impressed. “Father looks quite angry. I don’t think he approves.”

“He may well want to hex my face off,” said Hermione, smiling smugly into her glass.

“So you hit up Severus _and_ mouthed off to father. At a bar. My, those ovaries must be pretty fearsome things,” said Draco.

“You’ve got a death wish,” said Harry, but he was looking a little proud as well.

“I’m sick of being scared of old men,” said Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

“My new fear is empowered witches,” said Draco, eyeing Hermione with some trepidation.

“Sensible option,” agreed Hermione. “And my money?”

“Let’s go back to ours. I’ll give it to you there. Even I’m not rich enough to carry around _that_ sort of cash.” 

*

A week later found Hermione in another pub. 

A vastly different type of pub. This one smelt of stale cigarettes, and the floor was alternatively spongy and sticky. There was no brass, no warm-brown walnut furnishing, and definitely no velvet. There was also women in the bar, and no vaguely supremacist signs on the wall. Hermione was actually far more comfortable in this environment than the bar Draco had taken her to. 

Or at least she had been until she’d been set upon by an octopus in human disguise calling itself Simon. She’d been trying to shake off his tentacles for a good half an hour. What she wouldn’t give for a good Bat Bogey Hex. She decided to once more try the excruciating masquerade that all women had perfected, the polite brush off of a boorish prat.

“Well....look at the time,” said Hermione feigning politeness. “I should probably think about going.”

“Oh, I’ll see you out. Maybe we could grab a coffee, you know, end off the night?” said Annoying Simon. His name wasn’t really that, but she’d decided it was appropriate, given how annoying he was.

“That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m fine. Really.”

“It’s no hassle. I thought it would be a great chance for us to get to know each other.” Annoying Simon was making a bid to be renamed Lecherous Shit Simon as his hand made another play for her thigh. 

Hermione removed it firmly. Again. Honestly. She’d gone to university to study chemistry, not to be felt up by idiots who didn’t understand basic rules of decency. “Can you stop touching me? I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I think you do,” said Oxygen Thief Simon, who was also blissfully unaware of how very lucky he was there were all sorts of laws preventing the use of magic on Muggles.

“What about you fuck off and leave her alone,” said a familiar voice behind Hermione, and she watched Simon’s face drain of colour with interest.

“And you are?” Stammered Completely Terrified Simon, as Snape sat himself down on the chair beside her. He looked annoyed, unpredictable, and like a threatening, dark-haired, shot of karma. 

Hermione was actually quite pleased to see him. And that turned out to be literal, as his long legs encased in denim were _very_ pleasing. The fact he was obviously unnerving the Simon idiot was a bonus, really. 

“Someone who doesn’t like watching someone else getting their face rearranged,” said Snape. 

Hermione said nothing, fascinated by whatever it was that was happening.

“Are you threatening me?” squeaked Very Unsure Of Himself Simon.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be me doing it,” Snape clarified, sending a meaningful glance Hermione’s way. 

She crossed her arms and attempted to look intimidating. She tried to model Snape’s thunderous expression.

“Well, you can have her anyway. Frigid bitch,” spat Emasculated Simon, and he slammed his chair back into the table and left. 

“Apparently, you can have me anyway,” said Hermione dryly, watching Injured Pride Simon storm out as he flipped Hermione a rude gesture behind his head.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I have it on good authority you are a frigid bitch,” Snape responded in kind, turning his glass around in his hand.

“Tragically accurate,” said Hermione lightly. “I shall die alone in my flat with five hundred Kneazles.”

“Why limit yourself to only five hundred?” he said, eyebrow sky high. 

Hermione looked at him. He’d just made another joke. They’d had a joke moment. She was trying to think of something equally amusing to say in response when it suddenly occurred to her she was sitting there silently staring at him. He didn’t appear to be amused by _that_ at all. 

“I didn’t know you liked Muggle bars,” said Hermione, redirecting.

“I don’t particularly. But what I do like is being able to enjoy a quiet drink without being pestered,” Snape said.

“Too much ‘Tell me more about the war and let me see your scars and what about a shag I can then blab to the Daily Prophet about’?” Hermione asked. 

Snape looked at her appraisingly. “No explanations required from me, I see,” he said. “You here for similar reasons?”

“Partially. I was also having a drink with some of my friends from university.”

“He seemed nice,” Snape commented neutrally.

“He’s revolting. He was an unexpected bonus someone brought along that quickly became obvious was a terrible idea,” Hermione seethed. 

Snape drank the last of his ale. “I’m off.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Well you appeared perilously close to transferring his genitals onto his face, and the Wizengamot is tetchy about that these days.”

Hermione wracked her brain trying to say something else that would stretch out their strange interaction. “Did you get the money okay?” she eventually asked.

“Yes,” he answered in a bored tone.

Hermione was about to ask something else, but Snape had stood and was already walking away from her, tugging a coat on. Even in a Muggle environment, he gave the impression he was someone to avoid. People stepped out of his way and cast him wary looks as he passed by. 

Hermione watched him go with interest. She was surprised he even came over to intervene. At least that’s what she thought he’d done. It had been almost the longest interaction they’d had since Hogwarts. Every time she’d tried to speak to him at the annual remembrance function, he’d responded in his usual monosyllabic answers and looked through her, rather than at her. He only looked animated when speaking with Minerva and Poppy. Draco spoke as if he was very fond of him, but Draco avoided the remembrance functions, even after he and Harry started dating. 

Hermione knew what it was like to be hounded. Nothing like Harry and Snape, however. Harry, well, he was _everyone’s_ Harry, and everyone wanted a piece of him. Snape had been cast as the tragic Byronic hero, and endured constant articles in the Daily Prophet about the everlasting love that set him on the path against Voldemort. Hermione knew Harry loathed the attention, and she assumed Snape did as well. 

By the time another week passed Hermione hadn’t thought of Snape again at all. She was back ensconced in her university work, with her university friends, and definitely not thinking about Snape.

Nope.

Not even once.

“Hermione, there is a guy outside looking for you,” Zohair said as he entered the room all the honours students shared. Hermione had a small desk in the corner she shared with another student. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sneak in a few shrinking charms. The room was like any other one used by post-graduate students, full of mismatched furniture with a rubbish bin stacked with empty cans of fizzy drink and discarded coffee cups. Hermione was flicking through some literature that she’d been putting off reading, as it was so boring she could feel it killing her brain cells as she read.

“If his name is Simon and he has a punchable face, I’m not here,” commented Hermione, marking up the article she was reading.

“He wouldn’t give a name, but he looks super pissed off about something,” Zohair told her.

Even that brief description immediately made her think of Snape, who she wasn’t thinking about anyway. 

“Oh. Oh! Older guy, tall, black hair, sort of a ‘fuck off and die’ air about him?” Hermione asked, interest piqued.

“Nailed it.” 

Hermione put the paper down and went out the door. It was Snape, arms folded and leaning against the wall looking out at the courtyard, with what appeared to be utter revulsion, at a couple kissing.

He looked quite incongruous, against the wall, in amidst the students wandering past with ubiquitous headphones who stared at him with various levels of interest and wariness. Hermione took a moment to study him briefly. He definitely looked like he was out of his comfort zone. She wasn’t sure exactly what his comfort zone was, but she could tell it wasn’t in a lovely courtyard, with exquisitely manicured topiary the backdrop for an amorous show of necking. 

“Hello,” she said. “How did you find me?”

“Magic,” Snape said, not looking at her. 

Hermione almost smiled at the brusque response. _Typical._ “Okay. _Why_ did you find me?” 

“A proposition,” Snape replied.

“Go on,” Hermione said, bemused.

“I have to go to something. And I need to take someone,” he said, still staring at the courtyard. Hermione looked up at him in confusion, unsure what she had just heard.

“Wait, are you asking me out?” Hermione asked incredulously. 

Snape finally looked at her. “No… and yes,” he admitted.

“Not at all confusing,” Hermione said, thoroughly confused.

Snape sighed. “If I don’t bring someone myself, Lucius will force yet another horrid date on me. I need a diversion.”

“This is probably the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me,” Hermione said teasingly.

“Look, I just really want to be left alone. I don’t need to be set up. I don’t want idiots wanting to hear war stories and to get a piece of me they can sell. I just need you to come along, pretend you like me for one dinner, and that’s it,” Snape responded tartly.

There was a small part of Hermione that was a bit insulted. A laugh was all well and good, but being asked out as a decoy date was not every girl’s dream. 

Not that she wanted Snape to ask her out on a date.

But still, why was she the fake date girl? She sighed internally and regathered her pride. “What’s in it for me?” she asked bravely.

“I thought you do it out of the goodness of your heart. For a _fellow war hero_ ,” Snape said sarcastically and smirked at her. 

Hermione looked up at him thoughtfully. It wasn’t often life presented opportunities such as this one. And the promise of this particular one dangled before her invitingly. She felt a brief moment of reticence, then decided to leverage it to her benefit. “I want a reference,” she stated baldly.

Snape sniffed at this and looked away back to the courtyard. The couple had progressed from kissing to fondling and Hermione had to stifle a giggle at the abject horror his face displayed. “For an apprenticeship.”

“Yes.”

Hermione had applied for a number of apprenticeships with Potion Masters but had been rejected by all of them except Snape, who never replied to her request at all. Draco had said the Masters’ rejections were probably because she was a witch, which irritated Hermione to no end. Stupid sexist Wizarding world. But in her heart of hearts she didn’t really believe him. It _couldn’t_ be right. So, she kept applying for apprenticeships and completing her chemistry degree at university while she waited, and in the meantime, tried to extend her knowledge herself in her own potions lab. A reference from Snape would go a long way to helping her secure a traineeship.

“No.”

“Okay. Well have a lovely ‘something’ with whatever cross-eyed inbred Lucy picks out for you,” said Hermione, and she turned to walk back inside.

“Fine. Yes,” Snape agreed very reluctantly. 

Hermione turned back and strode back over to him. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Snape looked at her hand for a moment without doing anything, then sighed a loud sigh that was drenched in undisguised irritation, before shaking it. She realised it was the first time they’d probably ever even touched each other. His hand was warm against hers. Hermione ordered her brain to stop noticing such things immediately lest it get both of them in trouble.

“It is in four days time, starting at seven. I can side-Apparate you there,” he said brusquely.

“Dress?” Hermione asked. She was intrigued despite herself. What event would Snape be so desperate to avoid in the future? 

“Formal, nothing Muggle.” 

Hermione sent a silent plea to the universe that he wouldn’t take her back to that horrid Wizarding club with all the velvet. 

“Where should we meet first?” she asked. 

Snape looked thoughtful. “I’ll come to you. Can you owl me your address?”

“Yes. So don’t you have any friendly witches of your acquaintance that you could have invited?” Hermione asked. 

She had no idea why Snape would appear out of the blue and make this offer. Particularly after putting obvious effort into being so distant with her in every other social occasion they’d met. But, she wanted that reference, and also was dying with curiosity about Snape in general. This was a handy way to solve both these issues.

“None that wouldn’t take this the wrong way.” Snape said shortly. 

“What’s the wrong way?” Hermione asked, amused by his snappy tone. 

“Anything more than transactional.”

“All right. So what do we call each other while undertaking this particular transaction?”

“What?”

“Do I call you Severus, Sev, Sevvy, Professor, Honey, Darling—” 

Snape cut her off with a glare. “If you have to, Severus. But only if you _have_ to. I can’t imagine we’ll be doing much talking.”

“Hang on, what will we be doing? Should I wear something… _accessible_?” Hermione asked coquettishly. 

Snape sighed loudly. “What? No! You’ve got a filthy mind, Granger,” he said, but was looking at her with something almost approaching amusement. “I meant it will largely consist of us sitting next to each other in uncomfortable silence with brief periods of eating over-prepared food.”

“Sounds dreamy and incredibly romantic. Maybe _too_ romantic. I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you.” 

Snape didn’t respond to her teasing, and just looked away again.

“I’m joking. I couldn’t do that, my Kneazles need me,” Hermione laughed, almost completely for her own benefit, as Snape now seemed oblivious to her presence. 

“I’ll see you later,” he said, pushing off from the wall. As he stalked off, he shot the lovers a glare of such blackness they stopped licking each other’s throats briefly and stared vacantly after him.

Hermione watched him go, shaking her head. A strange man. Still, she thought to herself, all she had was get through one dinner and that reference was hers. She felt quite cheery at this and went back to her article happily.


	2. Chapter Two

He’d actually got the idea when she’d completely destroyed Lucius that night at the bar. After her comment about the elderly, Lucius had gone almost incandescent with rage. Severus had watched her walk back to Draco and Potter, then obviously turn back to confirm she’d complied with the wager. He lifted his glass and smiled, which was worth it to see Potter flinch back in his chair. Ahhhh… yes. 

“That filthy little…” Lucius was almost choking on his anger.

“It was a _joke_ , Lucius,” said Severus, sipping his drink. 

“Completely classless.” Lucius sniffed.

“Isn’t everyone?” Severus asked, shrugging.

“Some more than others. It’s in the _blood_ ,” Lucius said nastily. “Thankfully one can largely avoid her type.”

That’s when he’d decided. 

_She was perfect._

_Absolutely perfect._

And he had a proposition for her. 

His next week had then included an exponentially increasing number of loud, hysterical demands from Lucius regarding youth regenerating potions. 

Oh, she was _definitely_ perfect.

It had been a pure coincidence she’d been in the same pub but it had cemented his decision. She was forthright but hadn’t lost her temper at that idiot. 

Perfect.

She was easy enough to find. One slightly immoral yet nifty little tracking spell later, he Apparated behind the Panton Arms. He crossed the road and wove his way through throngs of his most loathed type of person... _students_... towards his destination of the Department of Chemistry. Everyone seemed impossibly young, and also like they were attempting to chew each other’s faces off. It was vile. He was glad enough to find Granger and put the proposition to her. 

He was extremely unhappy he had to agree to her terms. A letter of recommendation? He shook his head in frustration. What a waste of time.

Four days later, he Apparated to her address. He checked the address three times, but he was right. Surely this wasn’t where she lived? Severus knocked on the door. 

“Oh hello! Come in, I’ll just grab my bag,” said the adult woman who answered the door, speaking to him with Granger’s voice. He was briefly lost for words. He hadn’t expected she’d look, well… really nice… really, really nice. He thought she’d look like she usually did. Not that she looked terrible usually, just not... like this. He watched her wander off into another room. He realised he was looking at her arse and he decided he needed a distraction. 

“There’s wine on the counter if you want,” she called behind her. Severus found an opened bottle of Shiraz and poured himself a glass as he looked around. It was a delightful flat, beautifully furnished, airy, and comfortable. One entire wall was a bookcase. How could she afford this? Was literally everyone flush with Galleons but him? 

“Is what I’m wearing all right?” Granger asked as she came back into the room carrying a small, elegant clutch. 

Severus looked at her. She was wearing a startling cobalt-coloured robe which appeared to be beautifully made. She’d done something to her hair. He wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t well versed in the variety of things witches did to their hair. It looked fine. More vertical than its usual horizontal, but fine. Even better than fine perhaps.

 _Tell her that her arse looks spectacular_ , his idiot brain suggested.

“Yes,” he said, sipping the wine.

“Oh good. I wasn’t sure. You didn’t say where we were going.” Granger smiled up at him as she reached past and poured her own glass.

“No, I didn’t,” Severus said. 

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Keep it a surprise. You look nice,” Granger added, sweeping her eyes over his dress robes appraisingly. 

This time _he_ rolled his eyes, he was fairly surely he looked anything but nice. “Let’s get this over and done with,” Severus said, putting his glass down.

“You sound as if you’re taking me to a funeral,” commented Granger.

Severus said nothing. He reached out to her and she shrugged and offered her arm. Severus took it gingerly with his right hand and nodded.

He Apparated them just inside the gates of Malfoy Manor. He heard Granger suck in a breath.

“Oh! Oh… this is… um...unexpected,” she commented. 

Severus was still holding her arm and her felt her muscles tense under his hand. _Shit._ He’d forgotten she’d have some bad memories associated with the manor. Of course, ninety per cent of Wizarding Britain probably had bad memories associated with Malfoy Manor. Perhaps more, if one also counted exotic animals. He, for instance, had countless bad memories associated with the place, but figured there weren’t any spots where he didn’t, so he didn’t think much about it.

“Will you be all right to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s not a torture dinner party, is it?” Granger joked, but her voice wavered beneath her impressive approximation of unaffected bravado.

“The night is young. You never know,” deadpanned Severus. He left his hand on her arm for the moment, on the off-chance it was helping her. Well, he hoped it was helping. Generally, being touched by him tended to make someone’s day worse, not better. But the look on Granger’s face when she saw the manor made him think her day had already become extensively worse.

They walked towards the grand entrance. By the time they reached the door, Granger’s trembling had increased dramatically. Severus regretted asking her, berating himself for failing to remember her history with the building.

He looked down at her fingers and their white-knuckled grip on her robe, and stopped walking.

“I... I did not anticipate your reaction,” he said softly.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking ahead and not at him. 

Severus decided she was still a terrible liar. “You are so very obviously not fine. We will not continue. Come on,” Severus said. He turned and began to walk back down the path. 

She pulled on his robe. “No! I want the reference. Please. I’ll be fine,” Granger insisted.

“The reference?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Please, you promised. It was the deal,”

“Yes. It was. However you fulfilled your end, you came here with me. I’ll write you the reference. We are still leaving,” Severus said. 

“No. I can do this,” Granger insisted. 

He looked down at her, and she frowned a little and crossed her arms. He shook his head and sighed ruefully. _Gryffindors._ “If you’re sure,” he said.

“I’m sure,” Granger confirmed.

The turned back towards the door and it opened as they neared. Lucius was obviously still pursuing his invisible House Elf experiment, Severus thought. They walked inside and Severus stole a glance at Granger. She was holding up well.

“Ah! Severus, you have arrived. Let me—“ Lucius trailed off as he caught sight of the witch to Severus’s left. 

“Hello, Mister Malfoy,” said Granger in exactly the same tone she had used in the pub to great effect. Severus guessed that if Lucius hadn’t cast an Immobilisation Charm on his forehead, his perfectly groomed eyebrows would have met the top of his platinum hairline.

“Miss Granger. How… _unexpected_ ,” Lucius said coldly. “Please, take a seat in the drawing room while I have a brief moment with your escort.”

He ushered her into the room to their left, then spun on his heel to face Severus. 

“What are you _thinking_?” Lucius hissed.

“I believe I made it clear I’d be bringing someone,” Severus said evenly.

“Some _one_ is correct. Not… some _thing_.” Lucius said viciously. His eyes flicked to the doorway of the room Granger was sitting in, and his face twisted into a moue.

“I’ve brought her. She’s my escort for this evening. So are you taking us through to the dining room or not?” Severus said firmly. 

“You know perfectly well I will not,” Lucius fumed. “Thus is a poor show Severus, very poor. I shall put it down to youthful experimentation.”

“If you must,” said Severus, shrugging.

“Well. Get it out of your system quickly,” Lucius sneered. “And don’t come back until you have.”

“Severus, is something wrong?” Granger was in the doorway now. _Ah, fuck_ , Severus swore to himself. He hoped she hadn’t heard any of that.

“Everything is fine,” he said. 

She walked over to him and hooked her elbow possessively around his arm. He managed to prevent his surprise at this turn of events showing on his face. “I don’t want to cause trouble between such _old_ friends,” Granger said sweetly. She turned her head and smiled adoring up at Severus.

It was much more difficult this time to hide his shock. Lucius, on the other hand, looked positively puce.

“No trouble,” Severus said smoothly, trying his own attempt at a smile in return. A slight quirk in her right brow informed him he’d been somewhat successful.

“Miss Granger, I believe I asked you to wait in the other room,” Lucius said stiffly. “Severus and I have not finished our discussion.”

“On the contrary,” said Severus. “It is time, I think, that _Hermione_ and I should leave.” Severus watched, with some internal amusement, Lucius’s lip curl when he stressed Granger’s name. It had affected Granger as well, as he felt her elbow knock him as she started in surprise. 

“Yes,” Lucius agreed, motioning meaningfully at the door.

Granger kept her arm tucked inside his as they left the manor, which made it far more efficient to side-Apparate them back into her apartment. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence while they stood awkwardly in the middle of her flat. 

Then Granger sighed. “I need a drink,” she said. “I’ll just get changed first. This robe is to die for, but it holds stains like you would not believe.” 

When she returned she was in jeans and a soft-looking grey jumper. 

Severus had taken his outer robe off and was sitting on a kitchen stool pouring two glasses of wine. He needed a drink as well. He doubled the amount in his glass when his brain decided to tell him that Granger looked equally nice in jeans as the beautiful blue robe, and his libido hypothesised this “niceness” would increase exponentially wearing even less. 

He hoped she had no idea what he was thinking. 

“That was a dirty trick,” Granger said, taking the glass from him. 

Severus felt momentarily abashed. “Perhaps,” he said.

“You used me to get out of dinner parties for a while,”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“By betting on Malfoy’s completely foul attitudes to _my type_ of witch,” she continued, meeting his gaze steadily.

“Yes.”

“Well. I think you are tremendously lucky that I took great pleasure in providing that man with some discomfort. Otherwise it would have been both traumatising _and_ humiliating for me,” Granger continued with an obvious edge to her voice.

“Er... yes,” agreed Severus. The abashed feeling had returned with reinforcements.

“I didn’t even get dinner,” Granger said, sighing.

“No,” Severus agreed. 

She met his eye and sighed again, putting down her glass and walking into the kitchen. 

Severus observed Granger open the refrigerator behind her and take out some containers. He watched with some bemusement as she stacked two plates with food and blasted them with a Warming Charm before handing him one with a fork. He looked down at the plate.

“It’s Zohair’s version of chicken biryani, and it will make you want to marry him immediately,” Granger explained. 

He rolled his eyes and took a bite. Yes. He could immediately see great benefit in marrying this Zohair fellow. He looked up from his plate to see Granger watching him expectantly. “I’m sure he’ll make me a happy man,” Severus commented dryly.

She laughed. “You’d better treat him right. He’s a complete sweetheart.” 

“That could be a problem then,” Severus said, “as my track record is a little bumpy.”

“Really? I’m shocked,” Granger said sarcastically as she pretended to be incredibly interested in her rice.

“Are you feeling better after...” Severus asked, his voice trailing off.

“After you surprised me with a return to the location of my worst nightmares?” Granger asked.

“Hmmmm, you think that was purposeful?” Severus asked.

“No, but I guess it made me think you didn’t really think about me as a person. You know, beyond annoying student,” Granger said, then scooped a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed reflectively.

“Ah. You mean like how they hold the remembrance function at Hogwarts every year? I also enjoy returning to the location of my worst nightmares,” Severus said, gesturing with his fork. He watched Granger’s mouth drop open a little in realisation.

“Oh! Oh... I didn’t...”

“Perhaps they don’t think of me as a person,” Severus said. “You know, beyond the nasty Professor.”

“Yes. Oh... you’re right. That’s awful! I’m sorry I never thought about it,” Granger said. 

_Oh, shit,_ her eyes were looking watery. 

He’d made her cry.

“Well it’s certainly not _your_ issue,” he said, trying to divert her.

“No,” Granger said, sniffing.

“Do you rent this flat?” Severus asked suddenly, as a distraction. He noticed she became immediately nervous once he’d asked the question.

“Oh... Er... No. Um, I own it,” Granger said, moving some food around on her plate.

“You own it?” Severus blurted out despite himself. It was lovely. How could she afford it?

“Yes. I came into some money. It’s a long story,” Granger said with an air of finality. 

Severus wondered what lay behind that nervousness. Then his mind baulked. He was so sick of secrets, of games, of constantly dancing around subterfuge. He just wanted to be. And if that involved being alone and spending his life reading crumbly old books than so be it. He suddenly very much wanted to be in the company of a crumbly old book, and not with a former student who may or may not look equally nice in expensive robes or not.

Severus finished Zohair’s spectacular leftover marry-me biriyani. He cleaned his plate with a flick of his hand and stood. “I’ll send you the reference,” he said. 

Granger stood as well. “Thank you,” she said. “Um... So... I guess that’s it?”

“Our transaction is complete, is it not?” Severus asked, pulling his robe back on. “I’m momentarily excused from terrible dinner parties and you’ll get your apprenticeship reference.”

“Yes. Um…” Granger stammered.

“Thank you for the wine and for the dinner,” Severus said. He Apparated back to his home at Spinner’s End before she could utter another word.


	3. Chapter Three

“Hermione, can I come through?”

Hermione groaned. She’d just organised a particularly indulgent setup of cheese and assorted crispy things of loveliness, she had finished marking thirty-one papers and was wearing her most comfortable pyjamas. 

She wasn’t in the mood for Draco.

“Why? Did you and Harry have a fight?” she called back.

“No! But I did just spend an _interesting_ afternoon with father and heard all about your little adventure.”

Hermione decided her previous groan had just been a warm-up and improved on the groan with a frustrated growl at the end. “Ah, come on through then,” she opened her Floo with a wave and Draco stepped through, vanishing the ash that fell from his shoes.

“Father was apoplectic with rage, which I know, I know, it’s a standard experience for him. But this time it was about you and _Severus_ —”

“You’ll forgive me if I still struggle to feel anything nearing positive emotion for that man,” Hermione complained. She was playing for time, not sure whether to own up to the agreement or not. Draco was trustworthy up to a point, but was terrible at keeping secrets from his father. Something Harry had discovered in various embarrassing ways. And she hadn’t received her reference from Snape yet. 

“Who, Severus?” Draco asked innocently.

“Oh, I think you’ll find I have a variety of positive emotions about him,” Hermione said cagily. “I meant Old Man Malfoy.”

Draco grinned. “Oh I see! Hmmmm, old man, hey? That explains the intriguing new skin regime he’s implemented. You certainly hit him where it hurts this time.”

“Thankfully reptilian skin is thick. He’ll recover quickly enough,” Hermione commented airily. 

Draco pouted. “Now now. He is still my father after all,” he admonished petulantly. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Draco,” she began patiently, “he threw me out of his house and told Sn—Severus that he wasn’t welcome back while he was with me.”

Draco frowned. “Ah, I see,” he said pensively. However, as was typical for Draco, the moment of insight was fleeting and he immediately brightened again. “Oh, so you _are_ together. When did this happen?”

“Oh... Er... We went for a drink as you know, and it sort of went from there,” Hermione flubbed. “He’s pretty private, so we didn’t want to make a big deal about it,” she ended lamely, hoping that excuse would see off any further intrusive questions. Her surface lie was not going to stand up to a Draco-level grilling.

“So, is it serious?” Draco asked.

“Draco, exactly what part of _pretty private_ did you not understand?” Hermione asked in mock exasperation, then headed off another question by popping a slice of gooey cheese into her mouth.

Draco sat down on the couch next to her. “I’m surprised, no doubt,” he said thoughtfully. “But I’m actually quite pleased to hear it. He seemed to lead a rather solitary existence. It worried me a bit. Even father wanted him to find someone.”

 _Great_ thought Hermione. Now she felt really shitty about spinning out the facade. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she inserted hastily. “We only went for a drink and a dinner.” 

This was, after all, the truth.

“Hermione,” Draco said rolling his eyes, “ Severus doesn’t _do_ flings.” 

“Er... Well...” stammered Hermione’s mouth while her brain ran in ever widening panic circles screaming MAYDAY! MAYDAY! inside her skull.

“We’re going to invite you both to dinner tonight,” Draco announced.

“Oh... Um...” Hermione floundered.

“I’m going back to organise it with Harry,” Draco said. He was grinning widely now. He stood and made his way to the Floo. “See you soon!” He waved and was gone.

_Shit._

_Shit shit_ , Hermione thought. 

She decided, not for the first time, that she really needed to get herself an owl. Or, even better, wizards needed to introduce themselves to the exciting and practical world of telecommunications.

Because they hadn’t, Hermione had to change out of her comfortable attire, reluctantly put her indulgent edibles under stasis and head into Diagon Alley. She want quite sure what to write once she got to the owl post. 

But in the end she scribbled a quick note.

_S,_

_Draco knows._  
_I panicked and lied.  
Expect a dinner invite. _

_H_  
  
She sent the owl off and decided to wait to see if she’d get a reply. She’d read three articles by the time the reply came back. She unrolled the piece of paper, awaiting his response. 

It was one word: _No._

She rolled her eyes and thought, _Oh, for crying out loud._ She picked up her quill to ask again.

_It’s just a dinner._

She rolled up the note, attached to her owl’s leg, and waited. 

Her owl came back quickly with another note, again with just the one word.

_No._

Well. He was going to be like that then. Time to ramp it up. Hermione grabbed another slip of paper and began to write.

_Don’t worry, I’ll go by myself. I’ll say it didn’t work out between us and you cried when I told you and begged me not to leave._

She waited.

_Fine. Just the dinner though._

Hermione grinned to herself and sent one more reply.

_When you get the invite meet at my place first we can go through my Floo. Bring my reference letter!_

The reply, written in spiky black strokes, was quick this time.

_Fine._

She was smiling over the visible annoyance present in the heavy downstroke on the F when another owl arrived carrying the dinner invite. With a dress code! A _Muggle_ dress code. 

_Bless Draco_ , thought Hermione to herself. That little addition was obviously his attempt to make up for his father’s recent tantrum.

Hermione made her way back home where she picked at her platter while showering, trying to salvage her hair (irredeemable) and choosing something to wear. She frowned, nibbling as she thought about it. Was it more realistic to appear casual so it looked like she and Snape were already comfortable with each other? Or were they still in the dress-to-impress stage? She couldn’t decide. She thought about the disastrous manor trip. He’d looked surprisingly presentable in his dress robes, and she actually had enjoyed chatting with him over dinner. 

In fact, he’d been surprising all around. 

She’d thought about his comment on the remembrance function for hours after he left. Was that why he always looked so unhappy at them? Hermione was appalled at herself. She completely dismissed his taciturn behaviour as a combination of bad manners and nasty disposition. It had never occurred to her how discomforted he would have been. 

It had turned out she’d been completely wrong. 

A humbling feeling. 

What else was she wrong about?

She ended up just sticking with a playing-it-safe navy dress and canvas trainers. She had high heels in her cupboard, but always deeply regretted wearing them approximately four minutes after putting them on. She figured the evening would be uncomfortable enough without her feet screaming at her constantly. She was tying her laces when she heard a gentle pop in her living room.

“I’ll be out in a second!” she called. She didn’t expect he’d reply, so wasn’t put out when he didn’t.

When she came out of her bedroom, Snape was at her bookcase, thumbing through one of her chemistry texts.

“You can borrow it if you want,” Hermione offered. 

Snape replaced the book neatly in the shelf and turned to her. “No, thank you,” he said stiffly. He was wearing a dark green button-down with, naturally, black pants over chunky black boots. She thought he’d brushed his hair, but then he raked a hand through it and it fell awkwardly across his face. If she forgot the fact he was her former teacher, and also, she supposed, war veteran she would have thought he was like any other man, nervous about a date.

“You look nice,” said Hermione in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable. But as the words left her mouth she was surprised to find she meant them as sincerely as she had on the previous occasion.

Snape rolled his eyes and turned back to the shelves, tracing his finger along the spine of another book before pulling it out to look at the cover. “Why do you respond like that when I say you look nice?” Hermione demanded.

“Because I have a mirror and functioning eyes,” he said flatly. 

“Well they mustn’t be fully functional because you look nice. Take the compliment, you prickly sod,” she teased. He raised an eyebrow at her and she battered her eyelids.

“Charming,” he commented drily.

“We then aren’t we the perfect pair?” Hermione said. “Did you bring my reference?” 

“Yes,” Snape said. “I left it on your counter.” He gestured towards the kitchen.

“Alright then, let get this done,” Hermione sighed.

Snape stared at her with interest. “Not looking forward to it?”

“Not really, are you?”

“No. I was trying, if you recall, to reduce the amount of soul-crushing social engagements I was forced to attend, not add a whole new stream.”

“Oh, I’ve been to heaps at the boy’s house. This is how it goes. We eat amazing food, drink amazing wine, the boys will get tipsy and start making moon-eyes at each other, and that’s when I suggest we leave.” Hermione explained soothingly. 

“Sounds delightful,” said Snape with a thick layer of sarcasm.

“So are we still in the awkward, early dating stage or are we lovey-dovey or are we hot and heavy and revolting to be around?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, well now _that’s_ a question,” Snape said, leaning up against the shelves, black eyes glittering.

“I thought we should clear it up now rather than halfway through the night,” Hermione said. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to spring a hot and heavy on you without your consent.”

“Was that the direction you were hoping for?” Snape asked, his face showing traces of amusement. 

Hermione blushed. “Well, um, it was an example, not a commitment.”

“We seem to be doing fine with the awkward phase,” suggested Snape. “How about we agree to that, and if desperate times arise any anatomy between shoulder and fingertip is fair game?”

Hermione laughed. “Okay, agreed. I certainly hope that reference is glowing.”

“Practically supernova in its iridescence,” Snape said, smiling crookedly at her. 

Hermione was briefly captivated. Oh, he _smiles!_ “Be still, my future Potion Master’s Apprentice’s heart,” said Hermione, grinning and thinking about the doors that the reference would open for her.

His smile immediately dimmed somewhat and he turned toward the Floo. “We’d better not leave them waiting,” he said. “Merlin knows what they’ll get up to.”

She shrugged and held out a hand, which he looked at suspiciously. “Not desperate times yet?” Hermione joked to his back, dropping her hand and followed him through into the Floo.

It turned out desperate times occurred approximately one third into dinner. As Hermione had predicted, the food and wine had been the usual mouth-watering standard. She’d sat next to a monosyllabic Snape, who, while demonstrating exquisite table manners, had been a terrible conversationalist. 

“Father has now decided you are courting Hermione to wind him up,” Draco commented while trying to capture an asparagus spear with his fork.

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that to Hermione. Would you, Professor Snape?” Harry asked quickly. 

Hermione’s heart pounded slightly and she looked at Snape for guidance on how to react.

“That does sound _exactly_ like something I would do,” Snape said smoothly, reaching down and covering Hermione’s hand with his. Feeling his large, warm hand engulf hers sent a jolt of... something... through her.

“And perhaps I’d be happy to play along for the right kind of compensation,” Hermione added, twisting their hands over and entwining her fingers in his. 

Snape turned his face towards her and looked directly into her eyes. “Such a little... _mercenary_ ,” he purred. 

_Fuckadooley_ , Hermione thought, as another frisson of what was certainly identifiable as desire pooled in her stomach. 

That was definitely hot. 

And since when did she think _that?_

She leveraged the fluttering of desire into a lazy half-lidded eyed smile back at him, and his own eyes widened fractionally.

“Settle down, you two,” ordered Draco. “We still have dessert coming.”

“It’s simultaneously terrifying and sweet,” sighed Harry.

“The dessert?” asked Hermione, turning away from Snape’s intense gaze. 

“No, you both,” Harry said. “I suppose it makes a strange sort of sense.”

“Yes, you both like potions... books.... er…” Draco piped up, then faltered.

“Thank you for your searing insight into my personality,” scoffed Snape, releasing Hermione’s hand. 

She was surprised to find she was a little bit disappointed. “Exactly how long have you known me, Draco?” Hermione asked. “That’s all you can say? Books and potions?”

“Well, I bet Snape was pretty impressed with the potion you developed,” Harry said.

 _Oh shit,_ Hermione thought.

“Yes. It’s changed my life. It’s changed a lot of people’s lives,” Draco added.

There was a brief pause as Hermione tried to avoid catching Snape’s eye.

“Impressed is certainly one word to describe my feelings on the matter,” Snape said. “Others include astounded, wrong-footed, surprised...”

“Yes, yes. Well, let’s not go on about it,” Hermione said hastily. “Now what were you saying about dessert?”


	4. Chapter Four

True to Granger’s prediction, the moon-eyes began somewhere between dessert and some type of horrid, sweet liquor. He and Granger were sitting somewhat awkwardly side-by-side on one ridiculously expensive couch while Draco and Potter became increasingly entwined on the other. Severus had seen a lot of disturbing things in his life; however, he was already categorising this one into his memory bank of seriously traumatic life experiences. He looked across at Granger, who managed to communicate an amused “I told you so” via her expression alone. 

_Humph_ , he thought. _Know-it-all._

“We should probably go,” she told the nauseatingly affectionate pair, to Severus’s overwhelming relief. 

He stood immediately and crossed the room to the Floo. He could not leave there soon enough. 

“In a hurry to get home?” Draco asked in faux innocence, sharing a laugh with Potter. 

Severus considered a range of options from a small hex to a major Obliviation, but decided to settle on his darkest glare. 

To his annoyance, Draco merely smiled. 

Granger stood also, coming over to join him. As she walked, Severus noticed she was doing _something_ with her hips. Something very sensual. Something very distracting. When she reached him, she leaned into him and snaked an arm around his back in a flagrant violation of their pre-arranged anatomy agreement. 

He looked down at her with a tart reprimand on the tip of his tongue that was immediately quashed by her expression. It had never occurred to Severus that Granger would posses any type of acting skills, despite her previous history of acts of duplicity, but she was excelling here, staring up at him with palpable lust. 

His mouth went dry.

“Mmmm… I don’t know about you, Severus, but I’m in a _desperate_ hurry,” she said, more to him than anyone else. She’d dropped her voice almost an octave, and it made a few parts of his body perk up in interest.

_Bloody hell_ , thought Severus. 

This was getting a little out of hand. 

Still, he was certainly not going to be outplayed by her. Given that she’d already breached their established body boundaries, he decided that some slight improvisation on his part wouldn’t be an issue. This improvisation involved a soft caress up her shoulder, ghosting across her neck and trailing through the ends of her curls. He watched her pupils dilate, and he couldn’t help a slight, victorious twitch of his lips. Her narrowed eyes in response acknowledged he had taken that round. 

He was enjoying this game.

“Well, don’t let us keep you. _Please_ ,” Draco almost implored, looking queasy. 

“Thank you for the dinner,” Severus said politely.

“Yes, it was lovely. We appreciated it,” added Granger. “Come back to my place for an aperitif, _Severus_ ,” she finished, rolling his name around in his mouth like she was savouring it. 

Severus didn’t turn back to the boys watching agog from the couch, but maintained eye contact with Granger as they stepped through the Floo.

When they tumbled out into Granger’s living room, she stumbled away from him, caught herself, and laughed.

“Oh, did you see their faces?” She laughed. “That was amazing.”

“You’re quite the actor,” Severus observed, watching her almost double over in gleeful spasms.

“Well, I’ll take that compliment coming from you! You were _too_ believable. ‘Little mercenary’ indeed,” giggled Granger.

“I was merely rising to the challenge that I believe _you_ were posing,” he responded. 

She sobered slightly. “Well, yes. In any case, I think you’ve convinced Draco. He’ll report back to his odious father, which leaves you safe from single Snape-hungry witches for a while,” she said.

“And you have your reference,” added Severus.

Granger grinned. “I do indeed! Thank you.”

“Tell me about the potion,” Severus asked. He immediately saw she’d been wrong-footed. She obviously had convinced herself he’d forgotten Draco’s little comment, and now looked uneasy at his question.

“Ah. I thought you had forgotten about that,” she said.

“You _hoped_ I had,” he clarified.

Granger smiled ruefully. “Exactly.”

She nibbled her lip briefly, thinking, and then came to a decision before walking away into another room. 

Severus waited patiently until she returned with a flask. 

She maintained a blank face as he took it from her, turning it around in his hands. The potion was a pleasant light blue colour, and the glass flask was marked simply with one word: Hypnos.

“Your potion,” Severus said.

“Yes,” Granger confirmed.

“What does it do? I assume something regarding sleep,” he said dryly.

“Yes, it’s a combination of things. I made it to treat my own trauma condition after the war. My sleep, you see… It was really bad,” Granger told him earnestly.

Severus nodded. His sleep, if that was what he called the fretful, nightmare-infused dozing he doggedly attempted each night, was also _really_ bad.

“I had nightmares… night terrors even—sweats—and I was so easily startled I couldn’t sleep more than an hour or so at a time,” Granger rattled off.

“That experience is familiar,” commented Severus. He let go of the flask, keeping it suspended in the air with his wand. 

Granger watched with interest as the flask upended itself, and with a flick of his wrist, he separated parts of the potion into spheres of liquid like a demented chandelier or a mobile hanging from an invisible cord. He examined each sphere closely, testing viscosity, opacity and stability. As he focused on one, he let the others drift in lazy orbits around his head like minute planets. He could see Granger’s open-mouthed gaze of curiosity out of the corner of his eye and he allowed himself a smug smile. This particular technique of assessing potions did have the dual benefit of being effective as well as visually appealing, which was the exact reason he chose it.

“I tried Dreamless Sleep, I tried Calming potions. I tried everything. All of them were largely ineffectual,” Granger said, still watching his inspection of her potion intently.

“I see you’ve combined Dragon Claw with Boom Berry,” he said idly, poking a deep burgundy ball of liquid with his wand, as the rest of the spheres remained suspended. 

“Yes, that was a bit experimental. I wanted to burn off some of the brain’s stress chemicals, and reduce the hyperstartle response,” Granger said.

“Did you run tests using different amounts?” he asked.

This time she grinned. “Yes, I did! Wait here.” 

He watched her dash out of the room and return with a laptop. 

She sat down on the couch and opened the computer, talking all the while.“I decided human trials were the best way to see what worked and what didn’t,” she told him.

“Highly unethical—not to mention illegal,” Severus said. He sat down beside her and peered over her shoulder at the screen.

“Perhaps if I’d had access to, hmmm, I don’t know, an _apprentice laboratory_ , I wouldn’t have had to make do,” Hermione said tartly.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he quipped.

“My bloody potion does,” she retorted. 

He shot her a dark look and she passed the laptop over to him.“You have been developing it for the last four years,” Snape said as he scrolled through her data.

“Well, really I’ve only worked on improving it in the last year or so,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“Wait...” Snape said, scrolling back up to something he’d almost missed. He read it closely. “You trialed Aconite? Without distilling it? Granger, that is incredibly toxic.”

“Yes, but I thought it would have counteracted by the Bat Spleen, like in the Wolfsbane potion,” Hermione said. 

Severus turned towards her. “By the...? Honestly, you’re lucky you didn’t poison yourself,”

“Oh, I definitely did, but I never tried a new version without having a bezoar nearby. I managed to swallow it before I passed out.” 

He stared at her. Potion Masters studied for years before attempting to alter existing potions or develop new ones, and here Granger was, fuelled only by self-education and a sense of bloody-mindedness knocking back deadly concoctions like she was at a wine tasting.

“Forget about that,” said Granger, leaning across and clicking onto another set of graphs. She was leaning on his thigh now, but he didn’t think she’d even noticed. “Look at these.”

“Sleep cycles,” he guessed.

She looked pleased. “Yes! And see the control data here, heartbeat up around sixty-five, but over eight-seven in REM stage.”

“Yes, the nightmares,” Severus said. “Show me the potion data.” 

Granger clicked across to them, and he could feel the warmth of her side against his.

“Very nice, average of fifty beats per minute or less,” he murmured and the balls of separated liquid still bobbed around his head. “A very good account for three drops of Honeywater. You could one drop less and add a quarter half turn at a rolling boil.”

“Oh yes, of course!” Granger gushed and she reached forward and tapped the keyboard, making a quick note. 

“What is the dosage?” Severus asked, moving through the data as he spoke, test after test after test.

“Half a flask for someone with my mass,” she answered.

“How did you get so far on your own?” He asked out of interest. “There isn’t a text anywhere that describes how to correctly dissect the Bat Spleen for use as an ingredient. That is strictly Master to Apprentice verbal instruction.”

“Well, technically you are correct,” Granger said evasively.

“Only technically?” Severus asked suspiciously.

“Someone else _did_ work it out themselves.” Granger wasn’t quite meeting his gaze anymore.

Severus narrowed his eyes. He knew of only one person in the whole of Wizarding Society that had, which led to one and only one possibility.

“You have my book,” he guessed. _Bloody Potter gave her his old textbook._

“Yes,” admitted Granger. She stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Severus initially thought she was getting the book, but she merely returned with two cups of tea and a small plate of biscuits.

“Bribery?” Severus asked.

Granger frowned. “No! I thought you’d want to talk a bit more about the potion and you might like a cup of tea. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it,”she added stiffly.

“Thank you,” he said just as stiffly, but took the cup from the table and sipped some of the scalding liquid.

“So you’ve been using Hypnos to sleep,” Severus said.

“Yes,” admitted Hermione.

“And what did Draco mean by ‘a lot of people’?” Severus asked.

He watched Granger fidget. 

“Out with it,” he ordered.

“So I may have told a few people about the potion. Then they wanted to try it. I’d been taking it safely for two years, so I thought it would be fine. But I couldn’t afford to make potions for four or five, or ten maybe, people for free, so I asked them for some Galleons, you know, to cover ingredients and labour.”

“You were selling an unregistered, unregulated potion? Granger, the penalty for that is Azkaban.” Severus said plainly. 

Granger merely thinned her lips, reached under the coffee table they were sitting at, and pulled out a box of parchment. She plunked it in front of him with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.

“Over fifty rejections,” she said angrily. “And _you_ didn’t even bother to respond. I tried to get an Apprenticeship with every Master in Europe. Nothing. Apparently my scores at Hogwarts mean nothing,” she glared at him.

“It’s not your scores,” Severus said thinly. “It’s something else.”

Granger’s face screwed up. “What is it then? A Muggle-born thing again? I’m so glad I risked my life for this stupid society, given how much they appreciate it.”

Severus sighed. He’d hoped very much to avoid this conversation, but it was happening now, so he might as well get it over and done with. 

“How many Masters do you know that are witches?” he asked.

She sat back. “Er… um...”

He watched her mind work and then a look of utter defeat crept over her face.

“Oh,” she said. “So that’s it.”

“Wizarding culture has a lot of deep-seated prejudice,” Severus said as gently as he could. 

She looked at him. She knew it was bullshit. Merlin, _he_ knew it was bullshit. The potion she’d developed was the most innovative thing he’d seen in years, but she’d never get the chance to be properly recognised.

“You said you gave me a reference,” she said, sounded confused.

“I did. The reference is real, for what good it will do you,” Severus shrugged.

She turned on him furiously. “You made a deal knowing I wasn’t getting what I asked for!”

“I gave you exactly what you asked for! If you recall, I didn’t want to do it!” Severus snapped back.

“Yes, but I thought it was because you didn’t like me!”

“Ah, I see. No, that wasn’t it,” Severus said, getting slightly flustered. This wasn’t the type of conversations he generally pursued with witches.

“Well you quite expertly lifted, then dashed my hopes,” Hermione said despondently.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Severus said defensively, “I wanted to protect you from further disappointment.”

“You were trying to protect me, an ambitious witch, from being exposed to a male-dominated and entirely sexist culture,” Hermione began slowly.

“Yes,” said Severus awkwardly. 

“By denying me, an eminently qualified witch, entry into it, thus promulgating the stupid culture that tried to keep me out to start with!” she finished.

Severus was stony faced. That hadn’t been his intention at all, but it had been the outcome, had it not? He looked at Granger to see if she’d say anything more, but the fire had gone out in her. He felt very guilty.

Granger got up and walked over to her enormous bookshelf which Severus had begun to secretly covet. He cancelled the diagnostic spell and the spheres re-combined and poured themselves back into the flask. He sealed it and sat the potion back in the low table. Granger returned and placed a potions text in front of him, coloured flags stuck out of the sides of the book like orange paper tongues.

“There you go,” Granger said. “Um, I know you had no idea I had this, but thank you for your knowledge. I never would have got this far without you… I mean… without your book.”

“Thank you for returning it,” Severus said. 

“You’re not going to tell anyone about Hypnos, are you?” Granger asked nervously.

“I will not,” said Severus. He stood up, gathering up the textbook which he shrunk and pocketed. Granger stood up as well.

“Take the potion. Test it yourself,” she said quickly, picking up the flask and thrusting it at him.

He took it from her. “I am interested in the effects,” he admitted.

She smiled. “Well perhaps you can owl me your results… for my records.”

Severus nodded as he tucked away the shrunken flask into his other pocket. He walked away from the couch in order to have enough space to Apparate without destroying Granger’s perfectly nice furniture.

“You know,” Granger said abruptly as he was about to leave, “you never treated the girls differently in your classes.”

“No, I didn’t,” Severus acknowledged.

“Then you don’t agree with that bunk the other Masters do.”

“No,” he said.

Granger fixed him with an intense stare. “Well then, prove it.”

He frowned and spun away.

Later, back in Spinner’s End, Severus sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the flask sitting incongruously on his bedside table. He’d purchased a thoroughly decadent mattress about a year ago, optimistically hoping to undertake thoroughly decadent activities on it. However, it hadn’t really eventuated. Just, well, slightly seedy events. Nothing really to write home about unfortunately. The problem was he still found it difficult to trust anyone, and even less so since all those news articles about him. This definitely impacted him romantically. And his whole personality and appearance combination wasn’t a great starting point, either. In fact, when he thought about it, the last conversation he had with Granger was probably the most honest exchange he’d had in years.

And wasn’t _that_ a depressing thought? 

He picked up a bezoar in one hand (he wasn’t being suspicious, just cautious) and the flask in the other, downing the contents in one swallow. He didn’t start dying immediately which he thought was a good sign.

When Severus awoke, he realised for the first time in many, many years, he had slept the entire night. He sat up in bed, feeling unsettlingly well-rested. He pushed down his bedclothes, swung his legs out onto the soft woven rug by the side of his bed and stood up. It occurred to him he’d had no nightmares, or at least, none he could remember. He rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin. He felt....well.....really quite well. There was none of the foggy after-effects of Dreamless Sleep or the dull affect of a Calming Draft.

_Dammit_ , Severus thought.

It was brilliant.

_She_ was brilliant.


	5. Chapter Five

There was a corner in a busy cafe where good luck met serendipity. 

In this corner sat a small table with two chairs—chairs that looked uncomfortable but for the comfortable cushions someone had, by chance, dropped on them at some point. The morning sun always hit the table in the right way, and there was a potted fern sitting just so to the left of the table that leant over just far enough to give an element of privacy. Students had bolted early from crucial lectures to lay claim to that table. 

The table had seen many a romance bloom and fade. Wars had been fought over the table. Friendships had burned over that table. Yet the table remained, glorious as ever.

All this was likely why Hermione sported a smugly triumphant grin as she sat at the Table of Good Fortune mid-morning on a Wednesday. She had almost finished a very nice coffee and had nearly convinced herself it was fine to get another. A momentous occasion such as snagging The Table called for some type of celebratory excess. She was alone at her table, and glad to be so. In the three weeks since she’d been to dinner at Draco and Harry’s with Snape, she’d been on exactly two and a half terrible dates.

The half date was only four days ago, and she only counted it as a half as the man—well, _boy,_ really—had excused himself to go to the bathroom before Apparating somewhere else. Tad Gunderson’s departure had damaged the bathroom wall, and Hermione had spent twenty minutes helping the restaurant owner to fix it. She had insisted on this, as she already had felt terrible. She was obviously the type of witch that people couldn’t endure for an entire evening, but she _definitely_ wasn’t the type of witch that left someone else alone to deal with a broken bathroom. 

She wasn’t quite sure what her date’s problem was. He’d left in the middle of a lovely conversation they were having on the fascinating text she was reading on Vargot, a House-elf hero of the eighteenth-century goblin rebellions. 

Although on reflection, she _had_ been doing most of the talking.

The other two dates had been with Muggles she’d met at university. They’d been those vanilla-wafer dates that are perfectly pleasant, perfectly boring, and perfectly forgettable. Neither of them had actually been bad per se. Just not great. As good manners had dictated, at the end of each respective evening each participant had thanked the other, insisted they’d had a good time and made wildly inaccurate promises to repeat the experience. 

She couldn’t for the life of her remember either of their names. Brad? Brent? Grant? _Never mind._

Hermione had just made the decision to get another coffee when one was placed in front of her. A macaroon on a plate soon joined it, pushed towards her by long, dexterous fingers. She looked up into Snape’s eyes.

“A peace offering,” he said.

She looked back down at the coffee and the way the crema swirled enticingly through the milk. It smelt fantastic.

“I agree to your armistice,” she said, picking up the biscuit and taking a bite.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the space chair opposite her.

She nodded, and he sat down with his own coffee and macaroon. The idea of Snape sitting across from her eating a raspberry and coconut biscuit was preposterous, wasn’t it? But here he was, brushing the crumbs off a charcoal wool sweater that looked better than on him than it really should. 

“How did Hypnos work out for you?” she couldn’t help but ask, immediately annoyed at herself for regressing so pathetically to her former self, almost begging for his recognition.

“Quite well, actually,” Snape said. 

She beamed in spite of herself.“Please tell me you recorded your vitals,” she said, sipping her peace coffee. _Ahh_ , she could feel it uniting humanity already.

He laughed.

Laughed.

Snape _laughed._

She goggled at him, caffeine-fuelled global harmonious relations briefly forgotten.

“I did.” He reached behind him and pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his pocket, handing it to her. 

She paused briefly to look over the numbers.“You responded well,” she murmured. “You could probably up the dosage.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or we could work to increase the potency.”

“True,” agreed Hermione. Then she suddenly realised what he’d said. “Sorry, did you say _we_?” she asked.

The buzzing of conversation within the cafe was loud, but surely not enough that she’d misheard him. 

Snape hooked an elbow over the back of the chair and looked pensively at her. 

She looked back at him and took another sip of her coffee as a distraction. _Hello there_ , Hermione’s libido said, inserting itself into the conversation unnecessarily.

“I thought about what you said,” he began. He leant over and pulled some more parchment out of the leather satchel that lay against his leg like an adoring puppy and placed it on the table. 

Hermione looked down at what he’d put in front of her.

It was an Apprenticeship agreement.

“Oh!” was all Hermione could think of saying.

“I back-dated it over three years,” Snape said. “You’ve probably learnt more from the book than you would have from the majority of Masters in any case. It’s mostly cleaning cauldrons and making haemorrhoid salve, really.”

“Thank you!” Hermione said.

“I’ve registered your potion as well. I noted it had been your Apprenticeship project.”

“How were you able to backdate everything?” She asked.

If she’d been sitting across from any other man, she would have said they blushed. But she was positive Snape didn’t blush, so she wasn’t quite sure _what_ was going on beyond his cheeks coloured slightly. 

“I might have taken advantage of our previous arrangement.”

“How so?”

“It’s generally frowned upon to have any sort of _romantic_ relationship with an apprentice. There’s a power imbalance and too many opportunities for exploitation. However, in saying that, it is not prohibited. Therefore, I explained to the Guild we had something personal between us and I’d been reticent to officially register our professional relationship as a result.”

“And that worked?” Hermione asked dubiously.

“The Masters guild is terribly old-fashioned, even for Wizarding standards,” Snape said dismissively. “They were too busy being flustered and disapproving, and then disapprovingly flustered to examine the situation too closely.”

“I’m incredibly grateful, but won’t this damage your reputation?” Hermione asked.

“Thankfully my reputation has been built on decades of success in my chosen profession, not on the opinions of over-inflated, talentless, geriatric prudes.”

“What about your romantic reputation?” Hermione asked.

Snape stared at her momentarily before laughing again. Again! “Granger, if you think a dalliance with a venerated veteran of the Second Wizarding War, one twenty years my junior is detrimental to my reputation, I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint you. The only potential loser in this situation is yourself.”

She sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t worry. I’m doing fine in that regard all by myself. Well, me and Vargot.”

“What on earth does an eighteenth-century goblin rebel have to do with anything?” asked a baffled Snape.

“Firstly, he was a House-elf, not a goblin,” argued Hermione.

Snape made a scoffing noise. “Oh, please. You’ve been reading the romantic twaddle peddled by Krankston.”

“I can’t believe you’re inclined to take Janssen as the authority! He was well known for his vendetta against elves,” Hermione challenged. Honestly, Snape’s academic source was a biased twat. He should have known that the author she was citing was, well… more authoritative. 

“And I suppose so did Duong and Waters?” Snape said loftily. 

The Apprentice agreement in front of Hermione lay forgotten as she launched into an impassioned defence of Jerome Krankston, the one authority whom Hermione trusted above all others on all things house-elf rebellion. This spurred a clinical rebuttal from Snape, which led to further verbal sparring that outlasted two pots of tea, a plate of sandwiches and an assortment of dirty looks from other patrons who hovered around trying to give the impression Snape and Hermione had hogged the prime table for far too long. Hermione looked up at the clock and was taken aback to see they’d been arguing for over an hour. 

“I’ve missed my lecture!” Hermione said. “I’ve kept you here for an hour!”

“An hour?” Snape said disbelievingly. He turned in his chair to look at the clock, and Hermione saw his eyebrows rise when he saw she was right.

“I hope you haven’t missed anything important,” she said apologetically.

He shook his head. “Not at all. I only have to pick up some new dress robes for a horrendous outing I’m attending with Lucius. I managed to last almost a month without any. It’s been quite the holiday from small-talk.”

“Is it another date-the-Snape extravaganza?” Hermione asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Thankfully, no. It’s something that only the most disgustingly rich members of our society are invited to attend. I’m going with Lucius on the off chance they decide to be frivolous with some of their Galleons and become a patron of an exceedingly talented Potion Master.”

“Are you talking about Gringotts’ Gala?” Hermione asked.

Snape’s eyes flicked over to her suspiciously. “You know what it is?”

“Not really,” Hermione lied.

“You do!” Snape challenged. “What are you up to, Granger? The expensive flat with matching decor…. You can’t have made that all from your illicit potions business. Spill it.”

“All right,” agreed Hermione. “I guess as your apprentice, I should probably come clean.” She quickly signed the agreement in case he withdrew the offer. 

“Tricky,” Snape commented as he watched her hastily formalise the apprenticeship.

“You obviously remember that Harry, Ron, and I caused extensive damage to Gringotts’ vault when we were getting the cup?”

“Yes,” said a stony-faced Snape. 

“Well, Harry and Ron somehow managed to avoid any repercussions, but I got stuck with assisting them with the rebuild. Have you ever done renovations on a structure built by goblin magic? It’s terribly complicated!”

“Let me guess,” Snape said with an amused quirk of his lip. “You found a book.”

“Not exactly,” said Hermione. “So much of really useful Wizarding history is passed down verbally between historians. I spent about six months travelling Europe listening to people and drowning in tea. What I found was that original Wizarding economies were purely bartering societies.”

“What type of goods and services did they barter?” Snape asked.

“Potions, ingredients, charms, sometimes precious metals and jewels,” said Hermione. “Somehow—and this is a bit shaky—I can’t find the specifics, anyway—goblins discovered how valuable these metals were to Muggles. They could get far more bartering with them than wizards and witches.”

“Interesting,” said Snape who was listening intently. 

Hermione found she was thoroughly enjoying indulging in a conversation the other participant was actually engaged in.“But chunks of gold was one thing and _minted_ gold, cut with lesser metal to pad it out, went even further.”

“Of course,” Snape agreed.

“I managed to track down that the goblins used a particular Portkey point to Manila. It’s where they started to make real investments.”

“With who, the Spanish?” Snape asked, fascinated.

“Mainly,” said Hermione. “They swapped coins with all sorts of traders, but I think they were fairly taken with the enormous Galleons used to carry the huge amount of coins and people. Muggle ingenuity at its finest for those times.”

“Wait, are you saying our money is named after a ship?” Snape asked.

“That’s the best guess,” Hermione answered with a shrug. “The name started being used around then, just as coins hit circulation within Wizarding society.”

“So how long did this goods trading with the Muggle world last for?”

“There’s only really gossip and fairytales around that, but it obviously had to have finished when the Statute of Secrecy was signed in sixteen eighty-nine.”

“Well, this is all very fascinating, but I don’t see how it links to the gala,” Snape said.

“The goblins were complaining about all the money that was destroyed during our escape, melted by the dragon or obliterated by various spells. They don’t charge fees or pay interest. I’m not exactly sure how they even _run_ a bank. Anyway, I had to meet with their board, and I asked them about investing in the Muggle world to recoup their losses. I brought up the information I’d gathered on the activities in Manila as historical precedence in financial dealings with Muggles.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Innovative,” he drawled.

“I thought so!” Hermione said indignantly. “They weren’t convinced, so I took all my savings and invested it into the stock market.”

“I’m sorry, you did what?” an astonished Snape asked. 

Not even the well-positioned fern could hide Hermione’s nervous reaction. She picked up a fork and tapped it distractingly on the table. “It’s not entirely ethical, but I ran a few Arithmantic calculations and invested based on the predictions.”

“You _are_ a little mercenary!” Snape pushed himself back in the chair and folded his arms. “What a devious streak you have.” 

Hermione felt she was being admonished, but she also thought he was grudgingly admiring her.“Once I’d demonstrated the benefits, they gave me go ahead to invest larger sums. I got them their money back.”

“And?” asked Snape leadingly.

“And what?”

“And what did _you_ get out of it?”

“I got a warm sense of satisfaction from helping a cornerstone of Wizarding Britain in its time of need,” said Hermione innocently. “And ten per cent commission,” she finished with a quicksilver grin. 

She’d sparked another laugh out of Snape, and she watched, transfixed, at his head falling back in unabashed amusement.

Snape finished laughing and looked at her. “So you know about the gala because…” 

“Because they’ve invited me every year since. I never go though. Not really my cup of tea. Oh!” Hermione sat upright suddenly. “You should come with me instead of Malfoy! I can just see his face now. He will completely choke on his own rage.”

Snape looked at her thoughtfully. “It would work to announce the apprenticeship as well. Yes. We may even be able to garner some interest in sponsoring your potion, perhaps supporting international distribution.”

“That, too!” said Hermione excitedly, initially interested in pissing off Malfoy, but also intrigued by the possibility in global distribution of Hypnos.

“Well, how do you want to do this?” Snape asked.

“Why don’t you come to mine on Saturday around six?” Hermione offered. “You already have my address, so it’s easier.”

“Yes. Fine,” agreed Snape. “I’d better take this to the guild.”

The agreement as still lying on the table where Hermione had signed it. He picked it up and placed it carefully back into the satchel. He stood and slung it over one shoulder, obviously preparing to leave.

“Thank you for the apprenticeship offer. I won’t disappoint you,” Hermione said.

“I wouldn’t have made the offer if I thought you would,” Snape said neutrally. He shifted his weight slightly. “Thank you for lunch, and for the conversation.”

“It was my pleasure,” Hermione said, and realised she was speaking to Snape’s back. 

Despite the crowded room, he was already halfway across the cafe by the time she finished talking. She watched him briefly as he weaved in and out of patrons. 

A strange man. 

Although she had also enjoyed their conversation. Very much so. And he’d appeared quite striking when he laughed. Her mind decided to contemplate what he’d look like wearing other passionate expressions. She suddenly felt very hot and decided to clear away her own belongings and pack away her laptop. She’d enter Snape’s sleep data later. 

To the great relief of a couple who’d been hovering expectantly for twenty minutes, Hermione finally abandoned the table and went to settle the bill. It was there she discovered that Snape had paid on the way out. 

She hadn’t even noticed.

It took her the entire walk back across to the shared honours room to realise that she’d asked Snape out on a date. 

And he’d accepted.


	6. Chapter Six

“Galas aren’t as ostentatious as balls, but are slightly more pretentious than a soirée.”

This was the advice Narcissa gave Severus at school when she was helping him put on his dress robes for the first time. He hadn’t understood her at the time, and still didn’t really understand the difference between them. But what he _did_ know was whether it was a gala or a ball or a soirée, it generally involved a lot of awkward standing around pretending not to care that he was terrible at social interactions. He assumed this night would be no different, except with the added stressor of wrangling Granger. 

Severus paused on the way to his bathroom with the thought that he didn’t really _feel_ stressed about attending the gala with her. In fact, it did offer a sense of relief there would be at least one person he could talk to without immediately offending them. 

He’d also found another reference on the whole Vargo saga that would completely blow her and Krankston’s House Elf theories out of the water. He smirked a little in anticipation of her response. She went quite a nice shade of pink when she was arguing.

Now far more cheery about the evening, Severus picked up his razor and began to shave along his jaw. He could have used a potion or even a charm, but he preferred the manual method. His father had taught him how to shave before he’d even had a hint of fluff on his chin. It had been a rare moment of actual fatherly expression from Tobias and an even rarer positive memory of him for Severus. 

After his shave he stopped briefly in front of the mirror, and made a few adjustments on his robes to make sure they hung correctly. Why did the expensive robes crush so easily when his bog-standard teaching robes had outlasted teaching decades of First Year Potions _and_ Voldemort? In any case, wrinkled robes were the least of his worries in regards to appearance. Despite extensive (some dubious) efforts from Lucius—and here Severus recalled particularly that six month period where Lucius had tried to convince him to go blond—he was still the same largely unsociable and prickly package. Witches who believed what they read in the Daily Prophet were generally underwhelmed by him in real life.

He went downstairs to Apparate to Granger’s flat, passing a bookshelf on the way that caught his attention. There was the notebook that he’d kept during his apprenticeship to Slughorn. 

He paused. 

Granger might like to read it. She’d obviously enjoyed his old school text. 

He made a decision, removing the book from the shelf, shrinking it, and putting it in his pocket.

The flat was as lovely as he remembered, particularly the wall of books that called to him like a siren’s song. His fingers itched to browse the shelves he hadn’t been able to explore on his last visit. He took a few steps towards it.

“Hello! Would you like a drink, or perhaps a dash of courage, or some liquid social lubrication before we go?” Granger asked as she walked over to him. She was finishing adjusting a silver earring. 

Severus gaped.

She looked beautiful.

She was wearing another set of exquisite robes, green this time, that emphasised her figure in a manner that Severus’s body decided was most interesting.

“You look—“ he began and his mind nudged him. _Beautiful, you look beautiful,_ it prompted. “— nice,” he finished lamely. His mind threw its non-existent arms up in disgust and stalked off to think about the best way to store Flobberworms.

She smiled. “Thank you! It’s another robe I borrowed off Pansy. She has wonderful taste.”

“Parkinson?” Severus asked a bit stupidly, his mind still sulking about his inability to follow its advice.

Granger apparently hadn’t noticed. “Yes. I know, I know. We used to loathe each other. But she’s good friends with Draco, I’m good friends with Harry. When Draco and Harry first started getting interested in each other, they’d drag us along for social support. Then of course they’d get all snuggly so Pansy and I were left with only each other to talk to. We actually found out we get along quite well.”

“She’s very clever,” Severus commented, aware he was not feeling very clever himself at the moment. How could he, when he could see the smooth skin at the back of her neck that a few curls had dropped down onto? 

His mind, deciding to forgive him for his earlier transgression, poked him slightly… _imagine kissing that spot_. He shook his head to clear the thoughts before they escalated into something even more alarming.

“She is! She’s designed a whole range of fabric you know. It’s imparted with a charm that holds transfiguration spells longer. A witch’s best friend,” Granger commented.

“That’s intriguing,” Severus said, now noticing the slight rippled sheen to the robes. 

“Have a closer look,” offered Granger and moved nearer to him, lifting up some of the fabric for him to examine. 

“Impressive,” Severus commented. He wasn’t quite sure what the hell he was noticing or commenting on, as the proximity to Granger’s shapely figure under the fantastically magical fabric was rendering him slightly insensible.

“How was Malfoy when you ditched him?” Granger asked, dropping the fabric and lifting her arms up to adjust her hair.

“Fine,” said Severus.

That statement wasn’t entirely correct. Severus _had_ told Lucius he was going to attend the gala with a witch instead of going with Lucius. He had just neglected to say who. Lucius had patted him on the shoulder, congratulated him on his taste in women and expressed his delight that Severus had “outgrown his disastrous experiment with the Granger creature.”

This was going to a surprising evening all around for Lucius.

“I bet he was,” she snorted. 

On the kitchen bench Severus spied a bottle of red and two empty wine goblets. He decided one glass would probably ease the nerves somewhat. Granger saw him looking and beat him to it, pouring two glasses and passing him one. She looked at him expectantly.

He took a cautious sip. “It’s excellent, thank you.”

“The shop promised me it would be! I bought one for you as well. As a thank you for the apprenticeship. I know I have to get you something significant once I finish, but I wanted a some show of appreciation now. I know you went out on a limb to sign me up.” Granger leant over, picked out a second bottle and placed it near him on the counter.

“Speaking of,” said Severus and pulled the notebook out, enlarging it and handing it to Granger. 

She took it with a confused frown until she started flipping through the pages. “Oh! Are these your notes? Thank you!” 

Severus noticed she’d gone the flattering shade of pink again.

“We need to organise something formal to complete your final year, but I thought you might enjoy the read as a prelude,” he said.

“I will. That’s really thoughtful of you!” She was beaming at him.

“Don’t let Potter near it,” he warned and she grimaced a little ruefully.

Granger walked across to her magnificent bookshelf and placed the notebook gently, almost reverently, on one of the shelves. She picked up a scroll and walked back over to Severus.

“The invitation is a Portkey. We just need to activate it and it’ll take us there. But first,” Granger took a sizeable swallow of her wine.

Severus raised an eyebrow and she blushed again.

“I know it’s a bit silly, but I’m really nervous. I’m not great at these types of things, and I’m worried about making a mistake and making you look bad,” she admitted.

Severus frowned. All his own feelings of insecurity fell away in front of her admission. 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Just remember you’ll be the second smartest person in the room,” he added with a perfectly blank face.

She smiled up on him. “Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. There is no shame in being third.”

_That_ surprised a laugh out of him. She took advantage of his reaction and grasped his arm before activating the Portkey.

They arrived in an enormous cavern, with hundreds of floating lights nestled in craggy niches providing a flattering, warm ambiance. There was music, though no obvious source for it, that echoed pleasantly within the giant room. Around the room were numbers of goblins conversing with luxuriously-garbed wizards. 

Lots and lots of wizards.

Severus scanned the room for potentials. Somewhere out in the throng was someone who was about to be introduced to their previously undiscovered desire to invest in the future of potions. 

“I think I see a witch over there,” whispered Granger. “Should I ask her to leave now I’ve arrived? Otherwise I think they’ll be over the allowed quota of women.”

“Not unless you want to reduce the average intelligence quotient of the room by eighty points,” Severus whispered back. She giggled.

“It might be easier to split up initially,” suggested Severus. “I want to talk to Aloysius Swanbourne first. He is one of the biggest ingredients distributors in Britain.”

“Sure,” said Granger. “I’m going to try and find that witch. For some female solidarity in a sea of testosterone.”

She looked slightly downcast, at odds with the rest of her appearance. 

Severus placed a slightly hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Granger, you have more talent in your left ear than any single fraud in this place. Most of them use their money as a crutch to feign that they have something that makes them better than everyone else. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

She looked up at him with shining eyes. “Oh! That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“Was it? I was only trying for a clumsy attempt to bolster your confidence,” said Severus, pinking slightly. 

“Either way, thank you,” she stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek quickly before moving off through the elegant crowd. 

“I’m sure there is a rational explanation for whatever _this_ is,” said a silky voice behind him. 

“I doubt it,” commented Severus in a bored tone. “I rarely assign any type of rationality to a social event.”

“You know very well I’m referring to your choice of escort. Severus, this type of event is exclusive for a reason,” Lucius said reproachfully.

“You’ll have to ask Gringotts’ board for an explanation, I assume, as Hermione is their special guest for this evening. I’m merely the plus one,” Severus said as tugged down his sleeves. “Please excuse me Lucius, I have some business matters to discuss.”

Severus didn’t need any type of charm to know that a very confused Lucius was staring after him as he walked away.

The conversation with Aloysius was incredibly productive, and it was a very satisfied Severus, who walked away with an agreed twenty-five percent discount on ingredients with the one proviso Severus would only source from Swanbourne. This was a fairly easy agreement to make, as Swanbourne offered the best quality ingredients. If this changed in the future, Severus could renegotiate.

Flush with success, Severus moved onto his next target, Clément Lefevre. Lefevre allegedly had connections all over Europe to curators of rare magical items, including books. Severus thought that someone with those particular type of connections would come in useful one day. There were lots of rare artefacts that were useful in potion making. Severus introduced himself to the slightly stooped, bearded man.

Fifteen minutes later, Severus regretted his rash and experimental foray into the art of schmoozing. He was now trapped in a hellish conversation about Lefevre’s obsession with collecting magical door stops. He was attempting to completely disassociate his mind from his body in a desperate attempt to save his sanity when he felt a hand on his back. He looked across at Granger. Lefevre stopped talking at her arrival and blinked owlishly at her.

“I’m sorry for interrupting Mister Lefevre, however, I must speak with Severus urgently.”

Lefevre looked at Hermione, then to Severus.

“Clément, may I introduce my Apprentice, Hermione Granger,” Severus said, and Granger smiled at the astonished man.

“Pleased to meet you, Apprentice Granger,” he spluttered.

“And you,” Granger smiled. “Thank you for letting me borrow him!” She led Severus away to a shadowy corner of the cave.

“Has something happened?” Severus asked, as he felt a twinge of worry that Lucius had decided to make trouble.

Granger laughed. “Oh no, nothing is wrong. You looked like you needed an escape.”

“Was it that obvious?” Severus asked.

“No, you were very convincing. But when you’ve bored as many people as I have, you can spot the signs,” Granger said, shrugging.

Severus looked down at her, still resplendent in Parkinson’s emerald robes. “I don’t think you’re boring at all,” he heard himself saying.

“You don’t?” she asked, looking directly up into his eyes.

“No,” he said.

“Thank you,” Granger said softly. 

_You know_ , Severus’s mind said suggestively, _her lips are right there_ …. Severus clamped down hard on the thoughts. 

Bloody recalcitrant brain!

He refocused on Granger who was right in the middle of saying something.

“I’d like to introduce you to the only other witch at this odious function. She’s really lovely.”

Severus nodded and allowed himself to be led over to a very well-tailored and elegant witch across the room.

“Eira, this is Master Severus Snape. Severus, May I introduce Eira Davies.”

The witch fixed Severus with a stern gaze.

“Master Snape, I was absolutely disarmed to meet your young Apprentice here tonight. I thought I’d be long dead in the ground before I’d see a female Potions Apprentice,” she commented pleasantly, but there was a sharp steel edge underlying her soft tone.

“Apprentice Granger is highly skilled,” said Severus. “I anticipate she will be one of the most innovative Masters the Guild has seen in some time.”

“Well, I learnt from the best,” Granger piped up through a broad grin. 

Eira looked between himself and Granger shrewdly. “So… _Master_ Snape, Hermione was telling me about a potion you two are developing.”

“Apprentice Granger has exaggerated somewhat,” began Severus and both witches looked at him with interest. “I had little to do with the genesis of Hypnos, beyond providing instructions on techniques. In fact, I offered little more than what Apprentice Granger could have obtained from reading a school textbook.”

Granger laughed and Eira looked a little startled. The witch took both of them in with a calculating expression.

“That is very generous of you,” she said with only a hint of suspicion.

“Apprentice Granger has enough hurdles to face in the pursuit of a career as the first witch to attain a Mastery,” explained Severus. “I could not add theft of her intellectual property to them.”

“Indeed,” nodded Eira.

Severus felt a squeeze on his arm, and he looked down at Granger who was positively luminous with delight.

“I’d be very interested in investing in your potion,” Eira said. “I am willing to cover the cost of ingredients for a percentage of sales.”

“We are currently refining the recipe,” said Severus. “Can we commit to a meeting in a month? I anticipate the potion will be ready by then, and we can negotiate a formal agreement.”

“Yes,” Eira agreed. “I look forward to it.”

She gave them both a quick nod and moved off into the crowd.

“This is exhausting!” sighed Granger.

“You did extremely well,” observed Severus. 

“Do you think we could leave soon?” asked Granger. “My feet are killing me. There is only so much Cushioning Charms can achieve.”

“Yes,” Severus said. He looked around for an exit, absentmindedly smoothing his robes down. Granger snaked an arm around him and he looked at her in surprise.

“You look rather dashing tonight,” she said sweetly with absolutely no hint of sarcasm.

_Well?_ Severus’s mind demanded, _what are you waiting for?_ He decided to finally listen to it.

“Do you think? Er, that is.... Could I kiss you?” Severus said with all the awkwardness of his former teenage self.

“Why? Is Malfoy watching?” asked Granger, darting a surreptitious look past his shoulder.

A hot wave of embarrassment swept over Severus. “No. There isn’t any other reason except that, well, I’d like to,” he said, wishing very much to be away from Granger and her beautiful silhouette and perhaps his stupid comment could be left behind, hanging in the air.

“Ohhh,” Granger breathed. “That’s the only reason I’m interested in!”

She stood up on her tip-toes, and before he could utter anything to spoil the moment her soft lips were on his.

Side-Apparition usually involved a great deal of magic and concentration but Severus managed to get them both to his house at Spinner’s End completely splinch free, even with his mouth and hands otherwise occupied. He was very impressed with Parkinson’s enchanted fabric and even more so when he discovered it was very easily to slip up and over Hermione’s head. She giggled as he paused briefly to run a hand over the shimmering green. 

_Interesting_. 

He’d have to study it closer later, when he didn’t have other more pressing issues to attend to.

*

Sometime later, Severus had decided he was well on the way to justifying the exorbitant mattress. He was tucked around Hermione and was deciding to have another taste of that delectable skin at the back of her neck. She hummed softly as he started a gentle nibble, his hand dropping off her shoulder and curving down across her sternum. He could feel the raised skin of a scar under his fingers.

She shivered slightly, so he paused.

“Does that feel awful?” he asked. “Would you like me to stop?”

“Not at all!” Hermione answered, so he returned to his ministrations. “It feels a little strange, not like my other skin. It can be annoying when clothes rub it, and it can get itchy,” she said, squirming a little under his light touches.

“I certainly can empathise,” Severus commented in between kisses.

“Mmmmm… That’s nice,” Hermione sighed. “Dittany and Murlap are great at closing wounds, but anything deep always scars badly. It’s a shame there isn’t a epidermal version of Skelegrow. Just grow some new skin under the scar and then remove it.”

Severus’s brain pulled the emergency brake on all activities.

_Yes. Yes!_

He sat up suddenly, barely aware of the startled shout of Hermione as she tumbled off the bed. His mind was racing with ingredients, methods… He hadn’t felt a surge of inspiration like this in years. He had to get to his lab immediately.

Severus suddenly realised he’d pushed Hermione off the bed and he looked over to the right, an apology springing to his tongue.

She was halfway dressed, pulling on the old t-shirt and pyjama pants he’d transfigured for her last night to wear then they’d subsequently spent the whole time in a pile on the floor near the bed.

“This is exciting!” Hermione said gleefully. “I could see your brain working. I’m going downstairs to try and figure out your kitchen to make coffee. I’ll see you down there soon. I can’t wait to start work!”  


She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth then grinned and practically bounced out of the room. 

He could hear her clattering down the stairs. He got out of bed and found his own clothes to put on, trying very hard to control the smile that was threatening to overtake his face.

“Severus?” he heard Hermione call from downstairs. “Until I get to the shops it’s black coffee today. Either your milk is off or you are attempting to break into the dairy market with an audacious new product that appears to be some type of chunky milk. It’s a bold move and I support you wholeheartedly, but not enough to consume it.”

“Black is fine!” he shouted back happily.

“Great! Also, if we are grinding porcupine quills, can I show you a technique I’ve been working on?”

“I want to hear your reasoning behind it first!” he called as he finished tying his shoes. 

He started to walk down the stairs towards her laughter and the smell of brewed coffee.

This time it was absolutely impossible to stop the smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta Toodeloo.
> 
> And thanks to everyone for reading my story and I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Please continue to be strong, caring people and I hope you all maintain the rage against sexist, racist institutions. :D


End file.
